DISTRIBUTION: X-Files Discipline sites, okay. Anywhere else probably okay, but please ask.
RATING: NC17
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Discipline, Slash, Skinner/Mulder
SUMMARY: Skinner thinks that Mulder needs a spanking, though Mulder doesn't necessarily agree.
DISCLAIMER: Skinner and Mulder belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox.
FEEDBACK: Welcome. Send it to geoffrey2@cox.net

BRINGING HIM CLOSE
By Geoffrey
May 5, 1999

At 8PM, at the end of a week from hell, I'm glad to finally be home. I love coming home when Mulder's arrived before me; the apartment is warm and the lights are on, and there are always Mulder sounds. Tonight they're coming from the kitchen, sounds of cabinets closing and water running. For a fond moment I think of how happy I am that he's here, even though lately he's played a large part in making my job as AD a miserable one.

Instead of joining him in the kitchen, I head upstairs to change into jeans and my favorite shirt. During my drive home I came to some conclusions, and thought through how I want this night to proceed. It's been a while, months, but I've done this often enough to recall it requires a lot of energy on my part, so I might as well be comfortable. Excitement of a sort I haven't felt in ages begins to creep between my shoulder blades. In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror, psyching myself up for the delicious role I'm about to play.

Coming back downstairs, I get to the kitchen doorway and discover that Mulder apparently has several projects going at once. The refrigerator is open though he's nowhere near it. Water from the faucet is running into a nearly full sink of soapy water, and he himself is unloading the dishwasher. I'm surprised he doesn't have a broom handle stuck down the garbage disposal.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mulder laughs at me, unwedging himself from between the extended dishwasher door and the cupboards.

"Hey! I didn't hear you come in."

He turns off the water just as the sink starts to overflow into the other basin, and now he has to remove the stopper and let some of the water drain out. It's these little things that make me love him.

I cross the room and shut the refrigerator door, then step up behind him and put my arms around his waist, pulling him into me, pressing my lips to the back of his neck. He does exactly what I expect him to do, wet hands and all, turns around to face me and throws his long arms over my shoulders. He tucks his face into the curve of my neck and simply holds onto me, all sweetness, relaxing into my embrace. Based on his recent bratty behavior, and the tantrum he threw in my office earlier today, I've concluded that he's hungering for some focused attention from me. The way he's locked onto me now, nuzzling into my shoulder, confirms it.

I can always tell when Mulder needs something more than our day to day connection. He gets irritable and drives everyone around him crazy, including -- especially -- me and his partner. I know he can't help it, and doesn't know he does it, but still I consider it part of my job to make him stop. I'm his lover, after all. And when he gets that way, I know how to rein him in.

But right at this moment, he's not thinking about behavior problems. I can tell he's got other things on his mind. He slides his mouth along my throat until he reaches his favorite spot, and begins to bite at me, sucking my skin into his mouth as if he knows only one truth: it's Friday, and any marks he makes will be long gone before I'm back in the office.

And I respond at first. I can't help myself; my hands crawl downward to grip his sweet ass through the soft cotton sweat pants he's wearing. They reach even lower, curving up to cup his tight, hard cheeks and possessively pulling his hips against my own. He's pressing against me like he wants to crawl inside me and, as always, I know his body is mine for the taking, but I need to stop him before he gets too far. This isn't how this night is going to play out.

I bend down until my lips are next to his ear and tell him what I know he doesn't want to hear. "I think a bedtime spanking tonight, Mulder."

"No!" He falls away from me immediately. "Damn it, no! You can't, Walter. It's not fair. I haven't done anything. No!"

I pull him back to me and wrap my arms around him, not letting him loose even though he struggles to pull away. Of course he doesn't want a spanking, no matter how much he needs it, and he's frustrated because I'm stronger than he is and he can't escape. He twists from side to side and pushes against my chest, so I tighten my grip around his waist.

"No, Walter! Please!"

"Shhh. It's 'Sir' tonight, Mulder. You know how it goes." I've got him in a hug now, tight against my chest, and I stroke his back to soothe him. The muscles along his spine are knotted, and I know a strict but loving spanking is just what he needs to get him to relax, and release all this tightness. When he's laid over my lap, when he's writhing under my hand, when he's crying out his tears of pain, only then does all the tension he holds inside disappear. A long session with the belt or the paddle is exactly what he needs, to settle him when he's lost his ground, to let him know that he can find his foundation in me.

"Sir, please don't. I don't want to. There's no reason. I haven't done anything."

I say nothing. It's been quite a while since I've spanked him, and I know he needs time to adjust, to accept the idea. Maybe it's been too long. Maybe I've neglected this aspect of our relationship, denied him the guidance and control he requires from me.

"It's not fair, Sir. I don't deserve it." He whimpers slightly, mistakenly thinking that maybe begging will work.

I raise one hand to the back of his head and run my fingers through the soft hair near his neck, dragging gently, soothing him. "Oh, yes," I murmur. "A spanking. To set you straight. Put you back on the path." I drop the same hand down to tenderly stroke his behind, spreading my fingers wide to cover both cheeks, and the valley between them. His head remains against my shoulder, and I feel his rapid breaths hot on my neck. He is mine, the dearest thing I possess, and if by chance he's forgotten where he belongs, then he needs to learn it again. "Just a lesson. To remind you how much I care, how you belong to me."

The press of my hand against his backside makes him anticipate what lies ahead, and he renews his struggle. Once again he is pushing at me, trying to twist away, kicking at my legs. "No! I don't deserve it! I don't deserve this! Let me go!"

Time for a show of authority. Clearly I have neglected him; he's demonstrating a lack of discipline I would not have expected to see two or three months ago. I turn towards the wall, away from the cabinets, and drag him with me. I spin him around in my arms so that he is facing away from me, and press him against the wall to keep him in position. He looks back at me, the side of his face flattened against the wall. He is truly afraid, although I haven't hurt him, merely contained him.

"You don't deserve this? Deserve? Who decides when you need a spanking, Mulder? Do you decide?"

He looks me in the eyes. "No, Sir."

"Who decides?"

"You, Sir. You decide."

I see acceptance in his eyes. He has given in to the inevitability of it; he's going over my knee tonight, to take whatever I want to give him. I love spanking him. I love his resistance beforehand, and his fear, and the way he squirms under my touch and struggles to escape, at the same time wishing he could just submit. I lower one hand to his ass and begin kneading it, reinforcing my claim, my right to spank him. He becomes calmer, yielding to my touch.

"My decision, Mulder. I decide when it's time. I know when you need this. Hasn't it helped you before? Made you feel better?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then why are you fighting me?"

"Because it hurts." He whines, but then remembers I won't have whining. "Sir."

"I know it hurts. That's why it helps." It's true; only when he's ass up in my lap, naked and exposed to me, suffering the intimacy of my hand upon him, can he discover and give in completely to his strongest emotions. Only when he's caught up in the pain of a spanking can he let it all out, the pain and hurt that builds up within him.

I release him and walk away, over to the refrigerator where I open the door and grab a bottle of water. I throw back my head and chug for a few seconds. I was going to have a sandwich, but I think instead this will have to do for dinner. Dirty dishes beside the sink tell me that Mulder has already eaten. I look over to where he has turned around, still leaning against the wall, watching me.

"Come here."

He walks around the table to stand in front of me, resigned. I raise the bottle to his lips, and he tilts his head back to take a sip while I hold it for him. It is an intimate act, giving him water. I only seek to remind him of who we are every day, what we are to each other. Yes, I am going to spank him. Yes, I am going to take away his control. But I am still his lover, and I will be his lover tomorrow, and Monday, when we're back in the office. Tonight will be intense, yes, but only an interlude.

I give him another sip of water, and he comes even closer to me, close enough to lean his forehead against my temple. I reach a decision.

"I was going to spank you before bed, but I think now would be better."

He will work himself back into a frenzy if I wait. Besides that, I'm beginning to think that he's in worse shape than I thought, and I expect this time the process will take a while. I need to break him down, but I'm afraid it's been so long since the last time that he may have forgotten how to be broken.

We move to the living room. Mulder stands by the armchair closest to the kitchen, while I go upstairs to search for the paddle. I find the big one on a shelf in the closet, but really I want the small one that gives me better control. After a few minutes it turns up in the nightstand drawer on Mulder's side of the bed, buried way in the back underneath a half dozen paperbacks. I grab a bottle of lotion as well, and head back downstairs.

Mulder remains where I left him, only now he is inwardly focused, loosely gripping his own elbows, staring at nothing in the middle distance. I realize I should have tasked him with finding the paddle, and not given him the chance to overthink the situation.

I push him toward the sofa, but his steps are so hesitant that I get there before he does. So I turn back to face him as he approaches me. I want to watch him for this part, feel his fear and take it into myself. When he's caught up in his frightened anticipation, watching my preparations and knowing that shortly I will be positioning him, spreading him open and laying strokes upon the naked skin of his ass, when he's expecting the worst and wants to run and knows that he must not, in those moments there's a kind of electricity that runs from him to me and connects us, heart to heart. He surrenders to me in spite of his terror. At first I will give -- strokes of my belt and paddle and hand. And he will take, unable to escape the pain that takes him to his limit. But then the tide will turn, and he will succumb, giving me his trust and his tears and confessing his deepest secrets, narrowing what's left of the distance between us.

I watch the expressions on his face as I toss the lotion and paddle onto the sofa behind me. Watch him watch my fingers as I unbuckle my belt and pull it through the loops, and toss it behind me too. He follows my every move, unable to look away.

A huge ottoman in front of the sofa normally serves as a coffee table, and is piled with magazines and remote controls. I sit down on the middle cushion of the deep sofa, and push the ottoman away from me with a light kick.

"Clean this off."

I watch him gather everything up and set it in the chair by the window. He turns back to me.

"Come here." I reach out my arms and he comes to stand in front of me. There's not much clothing to be removed. No socks. I bring his sweat pants down to find that he's not wearing any briefs, so all that remains is his t-shirt. After reaching behind him to cup his bare buns, caressing his skin with my fingers, I circle his waist and guide him to kneel on the floor beside my knees. Now I can remove his shirt, pulling it over his head and upraised arms. He is naked, but the room is warm enough that he shouldn't be uncomfortably chilly.

I lean forward a little to pull the ottoman in front of me, and maneuver my legs so they are stretched out on top of it. This will make it easier for Mulder to lie over my lap. I pat both thighs with my hands. "Over you go. Come on." He hesitates, until I begin to reach for him. Then he complies, draping himself somewhat awkwardly over my lap.

I guide him into a better position, adjusting his body so that it's supported properly, spreading my legs and reaching underneath to adjust his cock and balls so that they hang between my thighs. Then I pat his ass, resting my hand firmly on the fleshiest part of his tight buns.

Mulder hates this part. I never begin spanking him immediately. The intimacy of this moment when he lies before me, alone with me in a way he never could be anywhere else except here, in our home, the intimacy of this moment that exists for just the two of us, demands a ritual. I find the lotion and squeeze out a good amount. Dividing it evenly between my hands, I start rubbing it into his ass cheeks. It's cold, I know, but he will be warm enough later. He squirms over my lap as I massage the lotion into his bare skin, letting my fingers trail a little into the crack, making his body jerk.

"Please, Sir. Can't you just spank me? I'll be good if you just get it over with."

I answer him by grasping his thighs and pushing at them to make them part. "Spread them. Wider."

I'm going to give him something he needs, though he doesn't understand it. If he tried he might find a clue in his own embarrassment. We are lovers. We fuck each other. There is no part of him that I have not seen at close range, or touched, or licked. And Mulder is not ordinarily a shy man, at least not with me. But when he's like this, naked and subordinate to my authority, it's an entirely different story. When he's under my control he fears exposure, fears my examination of his most intimate parts.

His anxiety rises as I dip my fingers between the firm cheeks of his inviting ass. His nervousness makes his muscles spasm, alternately clenching tight and then relaxing to expose his hidden entrance. I force his cheeks open and swab lotion through the cleft, at first using long strokes but after a minute or two concentrating on the rim of the tight opening.

This is part of what he needs, just as he needs the spanking. It brings him close to me. Very soon he will be spanked thoroughly, but for now there is only this, Mulder with his ass up in the air, spread before me, giving in to his fear and relaxing under my hand. When he is completely calm and breathing evenly, I use one thumb and forefinger to open him as wide as possible, and insert the middle finger of my other hand into his body. Penetration makes him gasp, and I keep my finger inserted long enough for him start whimpering. He bucks hard against my hand, perhaps trying to eject me, but it doesn't work. I rub his lower back and speak soothingly to him.

"There you go. That's good, isn't it? For my good boy." I don't move my finger within him at all; I just hold it there. To connect us. To make him feel. I don't like to start a spanking with a stroke of pain. I want his senses to be already heightened before he takes the first stroke, so that he's ready for it.

After a minute or two I withdraw my finger. The hand on his back I extend to touch his hair, to let him know it's time to move on.

"The belt first, Mulder."

The muscles across his back and buttocks flex in expectation, and he brings one clenched fist up to his mouth. His fear has returned full force, and I want to revel in it, in these priceless moments immediately before the spanking begins. But he's at his peak of readiness, and it won't do to delay. So I pick up my belt and double it over, and wrap the ends around my hand.

I raise my arm and quickly bring the belt down four times, hard. Twice across the top of his ass, and twice down low, along the sensitive line where his thighs meet his cheeks. Mulder howls and bucks forward, trying to get away. I know he can't help but try to escape, so I press my arm tighter over his waist, reaching underneath him to keep a firm grip.

The belt has left red stripes that nicely define the area I plan to assault. I give him three more strokes, then glance at his face. It is screwed up in a kind of grimace, with his eyes shut tight. Five well placed strokes hard on the underside, and his beautiful ass is dancing over my lap, looking for a way out. But the expression on his face has not changed, and I realize he is trying very hard not to speak, not to cry.

Ah, well. That means this will take longer than it might have otherwise, because certainly we will not be finished until Mulder has cried an ocean of tears, and confessed a number of newly realized sins. I deliver a dozen stinging stripes evenly over both cheeks, and at the end of these he is shaking, though still not crying.

I run my hand over his scarlet behind, and he flinches. Already his bare skin is radiating heat. His face displays his struggle to maintain his composure. He is a long way from giving in.

"Mulder. Tell me what you're thinking."

Still with his eyes closed, he spits out his response. "Fuck you!"

It's a challenge, and one that makes this next phase easier for me, but harder for him. I begin belting him steadily, applying stripes all over his ass, and I will not stop until he shows some sign of giving in. His legs flail wildly and he struggles frantically to somehow escape the whipping, but I am stronger than he is and there's nowhere he can go.

Stroke after stroke, finally eliciting noises from him, though not capitulation. "Ugh! Aagh! Oh!" These sounds leave his throat and travel around the hand he is now biting. But still, no tears. I have never understood why he is so stubborn. Nor do I understand what he wants to prove by not crying; he has told me in the past that he cries easily when he's alone. Why then does he fight so hard not to cry in front of me?

I strike harder and faster, giving him about thirty more lashes, managing at least to distribute them evenly and so avoid any deep bruising. At this point I will settle for anything from him, anything to indicate that his emotions are rising to the surface and breaking free. And finally it comes. Not tears, but words, screaming and shouting and begging me.

"Stop! Stop it! Please, stop!" I stop immediately. "I'll do anything... I don't know what you want... what do you want from me...? Please..."

"Mulder." I reach for his face, and softly stroke his cheek. "We've done this before. Don't you understand?" He opens his eyes and stares, not at me, but at the back of the sofa. "It's about letting go. You let go, and I catch you."

He blinks. His eyes are watering up. These words are what gets through to him, though my belt paved the way. I lay my hand over his behind and rest it there, lightly moving my fingers on his deeply reddened skin. He begins to sob freely, letting go as he needs to do, finding release. I keep talking to him.

"I'm right here, Mulder. There's something inside you that has to come out. You have to let it go. Do you understand?"

It's time to move on.

"I'm going to use the paddle now."

"No. Please, no more." He is crying hard enough that it's difficult to make out what he's saying. "I can't...."

"Yes, you can. Trust me. I'm right here with you."

I like the small paddle. It lets me reach the inside curves of his ass and thighs. Right now most of his backside is a deep dark red, except for these tucked away, hard to reach areas. But the coloring is uneven because the belt is narrow, and hard to aim. I'll use the paddle to even him up.

I begin with his opposite cheek, spanking hard wherever the skin is not as dark as in other places. I work from top to bottom, smacking him especially hard on the fleshy underside of his buns, and pulling the skin taut to get better coverage at the crease of his thighs. His ass is upraised, naked and vulnerable, and showing the effects of my handiwork.

I listen to his pleas and promises. In moments like this, what was obscure becomes clear to him. Of course he knows that he insulted his partner. Of course he knows he embarrassed me in my staff meeting. Of course he knows his last report was unprofessional and full of sarcasm. He even knows these actions stem from perceived hurts inflicted upon him. Knows that when he acts out he's just, somehow, getting even. Or fishing for attention. And he's sorry, he's oh so sorry.

It pours out as it always does whenever he's stretched over my lap and subjected to a spanking. I finish rounding out his other cheek, and though I know he can't take much more, there are some spots that still need to be slapped. I wedge my hand into his crack and press down, exposing the delicate flesh within. Smack, smack with the paddle, along the crease, down one side and up the other. I know it stings. He is exhausted now and he gives in completely, accepting this discipline because it comes from someone who cares for him.

When I've covered every inch of him I throw the paddle aside and feel him with my hand, feel the heat rising from his punished backside. I drag my fingers once through the burning crevice and feel him flinch. I'm finished now.

"That's it, Mulder. It's over. You did well. I'm proud of you."

He scoots back on my lap and repositions himself with his head on my thighs, and throws his arms around my waist, clinging to me. A new wave of tears overtakes him.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry... I'm sorry...."

I wrap my arms tightly around him. It is always this way with us after a spanking. Over the next two days he will not stray far from me, needing my constant touch and reassurance. I've brought him close to me.

He's exhausted, though it's still early. I'll take him to bed before I let him fall asleep on my lap. But for now, I pet him, stroking away the hair that's fallen across his forehead.

"You feel better, don't you, now that it's all out? You've been such a monster lately. I knew you needed this."

He buries his face against my belly, clutching at me, soaking my shirt with his tears.

"The problem was we waited too long. That's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm going to spank you a whole lot more from now on."

I don't expect him to take this as good news, so I'm not surprised when he says nothing. Never mind. He knows now it's for his own good. His sniffles fade to sighs, and then silence, and we'll stay this way for a few minutes longer, and then head up the stairs.

- end -

Send feedback to geoffrey2@cox.net

-- Home --